


Tetris

by GGin



Category: La Passe-Miroir | The Mirror Visitor - Christelle Dabos
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 2, Book 3, F/M, Missing Scene, One Shot Collection, Other, Spoilers, Thorn POV, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24161155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GGin/pseuds/GGin
Summary: One-shots collection inspired by La Passe-Miroir/The Mirror Visitor: Thorn POV, AUs, Missing moments.1. Vertigo: the second meeting between Thorn and Ophelia's family (Thorn POV)2. Claws: Ophelia decides to confront Thorn (What if? - Spoilers third book)3. Vertigo II: Ophelia and Thorn on the wall, under the rain (Thorn POV)4. The Favour: Archibald visits Thorn in prison (Missing moment)5. The Memory: Ophelia and Thorn get married in prison (Thorn POV)Spoilers (third and fourth tomes) could be present in future chapters. In that case I'll add a note.
Relationships: Ophélie/Thorn
Comments: 43
Kudos: 162





	1. Vertigo (Thorn POV)

**Author's Note:**

> Thorn POV for the first part of “Vertigo” (pag.270, The Missing of Clairdelune)
> 
> I recently read the whole saga (half in english, half in french) and I fell in love with it. I'm so obsessed by Ophelia and Thorn that I needed to write about them. It's been years since I wrote my last fanfiction and this is the first time I write one in english (nor english or french are my native language), I hope you like it!
> 
> Title and inspiration from the song "Tetris" by Pinguini Tattici Nucleari

“ _Tu eri per me_

_Scampare a mille incubi_

_Ma rimanerci secco al primo sogno apparso_

_Lungo la mia strada_ ”

(Tetris – PTN)

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_“I promise you it won’t be as awful as you think it will be.”_

Thorn knew he shouldn’t have believed it. After all, he had already met her family on Anima and if he thought that had been a terrible first impression on both sides, their second meeting, for now, was even worse.

Not that he cared.

He could feel Ophelia’s sisters staring at him. That chair was too small for a man as tall as him, but he was used to it. The thing he was not used to was trying not to hit his neighbours while eating. Eating was such a waste of time. And so _gross_. He never understood how people could find any pleasure in food. Had not been necessary for survival, he would have stopped eating a long time ago.

He took his handkerchief out from his pocket, cleaned his mouth and then his knife and fork, before repositioning them. He was wasting time. He moved the knife two more millimetres to the left. He had postponed, much to his irritation, two of his afternoon appointments. He pushed the fork half a centimetre higher with the tip of his finger. But he still had to check the documents for his case. He probably would have been able to make up for lost time by spending two minutes on each file instead of five. He took his fork and brought another piece of tart to his mouth. He was not going to touch the hotel napkin. He had checked the cutlery and plate before starting eating, but he knew how poorly those things were usually cleaned and he couldn’t rule out the hypothesis of poisoning by one of his enemies.

Or Ophelia’s mother.

Thorn had to say, he had expected more noise, questions, screams. He could feel the fury from Ophelia’s mother and the fear in her great-uncle’s stare, yet nobody dared to speak. He would never had thought it possible, but in that moment, he wouldn’t have minded her Aunt’s presence. She surely knew better how to deal with this situation than him and his future wife.

He slowly chewed one last bite.

Ophelia wanted him to be there, and he was. The silence was not a problem at all.

“The circus was fun” Ophelia was trying to ease the tension in the room, talking to her brother. Thorn didn’t like the kid. He didn’t like kids at all. “Have you shown your photographs?”

“Why’d I chow them? They’re all chpoilt becauch of the echos.”

Thorn didn’t know what Ophelia was expecting from that meal, but he had always known. Even before their first meeting. Even before leaving for Anima. Her family was never going to like him. Or even stand him.

He didn’t care.

Besides Berenilde, not even his family had ever liked him. Ophelia didn’t like him. And even if that last thought hurt, more than he would ever admit to himself, it was okay. He was used to it.

But he couldn’t risk her family standing in the way of their wedding and his plan. So, he was going to give them all they wanted.

“Nine and four.” He put his fork back on the table, three point five centimetres to the right of his plate. Both the kids and the adults were startled by the sound of his voice.

“Could you repeat that, Mr. Thorn?”

“Nine.” He was still focusing on the symmetry of his things on the table. According to his calculations, in fifteen minutes the meal would have been finished. Fifteen minutes and he could go back to his office and his work. “That is the number of our family properties. They are castles, in the main, almost all of excellent construction. Three of them are to be found in Citaceleste, and I have designated one for your daughter, as a wedding present.” He had never talked with her about it, but Thorn hoped Ophelia could like it. He turned his stare to her mother. “I suggest you visit our properties. And if you find souvenirs within that you would like to take back to Anima, help yourselves as you please.” Money, items, properties… They were not a problem; he could give them whatever they wanted. And, in exchange, they would leave him alone.

All members of Ophelia’s family froze. The ones seated next to him tried to put as much space between him and them as possible without making any noise.

The fear in the great-uncle’s stare had turned into hate.

Ophelia was staring at him, shocked. She was not pleased at all. But what was she expecting from him?

Only Ophelia’s older sister seemed to be happy. She was trembling and sighing “castles”, daydreaming with a smile on her face. A long time ago, before arriving on Anima, that was how he had imagined his future wife and in-laws. Greedy. Ambitious. Stupid. Superficial. He had been right about most of her family, but Ophelia… With Ophelia he couldn’t have been more wrong. The woman that was trying to keep him quiet from across the table just with her eyes was a constant surprise.

Still, he was looking only at her mother.

“Mr. Thorn,” Five thousand two hundred fifty-seven. That was the number of times someone had pronounced his name with _that same tone_. Full of hate. Full of disgust. He was used to it. Apart from Berenilde, it was that, indifference or, more commonly, fear. “Are you now attempting to buy our indulgence, as I believe to be the case?”

At least that woman was not completely stupid. Or deaf.

“Yes.” Thorn moved his stare to the other members of the family, avoiding Ophelia. She was still trying to stop him, and he had to admit that not listening to her sometimes was _difficult_.

They hated him. They were afraid.

“I will never make the ideal son-in-law,” It was ironic. Before meeting Ophelia, he had thought he would have made a terrible son-in-law because of his incapacity to love. Now he understood that his feelings for Ophelia would have never been enough. They considered him a monster. And they were right. “And I’m not counting on my charm to persuade you of the contrary. These properties are the only assets I can boast to you about.”

Nothing else he could say was going to change their opinion. And even if he told them everything, they wouldn’t believe him. How could he explain that this wedding was just a plan to read Farouk’s Book? That he had spent his whole life convinced that he could never _love_ , until Ophelia had slipped in that damn observatory?

He just wanted to go back to his office. As soon as possible.

“And that’s it?” Ophelia’s great-uncle was regarding him with fury. “That’s really all you’ve got to say to us? Not looking for a tiff, are we?”

“Listen to me,” Ophelia tried to intervene. “I would like to…”

“No,” he continued without looking at her, but he felt the daggers she was throwing at him with her eyes. Had she already inherited his claws, he was sure he would have sensed them in that moment. “That is not all I have to say. Nine was my first argument to meet your approval. Four is the second.”

“Four what, Mr. Thorn?”

Thorn looked at Ophelia’s father. How was it possible for that incredible woman to be born in that family? She was brave, curious, unpredictable. They were nothing of it. Coward, stupid… they were so very predictable, so boring.

“Four days.” He went back to his plate and took his knife. “That’s the time span separating us from the wedding. During this period of time, no matter how much my attitude towards your daughter shocks you or displease you, I would ask you not to get involved.” He had to be sure nothing was going to ruin his plan. Ophelia’s safety was depending on it too.

“Thorn, perhaps you shouldn’t…” Ophelia was trying to speak again but she was interrupted. Her mother’s tone of voice was high pitched as Ophelia’s was low. “I get involved in the lives of my children however I see fit! I can’t oppose this marriage, but you’re more chilling than a block of ice, and I’m not afraid to tell you that to your face.”

Well, compared to what people were usually saying about him, that was almost a compliment.

“Four days,” he insisted. “After the wedding, you can ask your daughter to visit you on Anima as often and for as long as you see fit.”

“It seems to me, that I could at least…” His future wife didn’t want to give up on her arguments, but her mother was refusing to listen. Thorn was beginning to understand why freedom was so important to Ophelia. To say that her mother was bossy was an understatement.

“I have your word? I will be able to summon my daughter back home as often as I like?” The woman was looking at him with a spark of triumph.

“ _I_ promise that you will.” He stressed the first word, sure that Ophelia could grasp his meaning.

“You will never go against my wishes?” He could feel the hope in Ophelia’s mother and the distress coming from his future wife.

“No,” he assured fixing Ophelia with his stare. She had to understand, she had to _listen_! When he had told her earlier that he had never made such an effort not to be hated, it was the truth. He was not getting her stuck in that deal. “ _I_ will never go against them.”

“If my opinion still interests,” he wanted to growl. _Of course_ she wasn’t listening! She was never doing what he was expecting her to, that girl was unbelievable! “I think that…”

“You’re too obliging, Mr. Thorn,” the Rapporteur cut in. Thorn hated that mellifluous tone. He was perfectly fine with hate, indifference and fear, but couldn’t tolerate false admiration. His felt his claws vibrating at the end of his nervous system, but he didn’t leave Ophelia’s eyes, counting the minutes left until the end of that meal. “It’s most honourable of you to want to reassure us,” Just seven minutes and thirty-seven seconds more. “But you shouldn’t be making such promises to us. Our little Ophelia’s place is right here, by your side. If you allow her too much freedom, she’ll never honour her duties to you and will make a mockery out of this diplomatic alliance.”

Thorn snorted. _Her duties_. He almost wanted to let out a big, bitter laugh and to shock all his dining companions, especially Ophelia. Oh, his future wife had been clear about her duties.

She would never share his bed. She would never have his children. She would never love him.

Before that night, he had hoped that with time she would have considered him his husband and shared his bed, but he remembered every little detail of their meeting at the station. The cold, the light illuminating her, her voice, her stare under that Mime mask, his fingers on her wrist.

Her words.

The emptiness setting on his chest. The pain in his lungs. The weight on his stomach. Was that what people meant when they referred to a broken heart?

He shared her feelings. A bastard, a terrible husband, an unlovable man. Ophelia, on the other hand, was special. He was not worth of her love. All he could do was to care about her, without expecting anything in return. They would get married and he would carry out his plan. Then, if Ophelia wanted freedom, he would give her freedom.

Ridicule had never killed him.

“To sum up the situation” he ignored the Rapporteur and went back to Ophelia’s mother. “I offer you my most profitable possession, my worldly goods, and I spare you from my least attractive possession, my company. In exchange, I ask you for these four days, during which you will not interfere in my affairs.”

Ophelia’s mother was not entirely happy, but after four seconds her lips stretched in a small smile.

They had a deal.

“I would love a little more dessert. Another slice of tart, Mr. Thorn?”


	2. Claws (What if?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SPOILER ALERT FOR THE THIRD BOOK
> 
> “Why are you here?”  
> Ophelia brought one hand to her face to adjust the glasses on her nose and realized, seeing her fingers shaking, that she was terrified. Not of another attack of his claws, not of physical pain. She was full of terror because of what he could say to her. The bond that had formed between them at the Pole was broken and all that was left was an immense crater that grew larger and larger every day and that she did not know how to cross.  
> “You don’t trust me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILER ALERT FOR ENGLISH READERS (and some other languages, I guess): If you haven't read the third book yet (The memory of Babel), skip this chapter! Seriously, it's full of spoilers.
> 
> \-------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> This idea came to me the first time I read Ophelia's thoughts when she realized what had exactly happened, but it was much more difficult to write it down than what I thought. I wanted to put too many things together and I spent three days just deleting and re-writing paragraphs. It's still not perfect, but at least I'm okay with it. I hope you like it!
> 
> What if: after Thorn used his claws on her outside the Memorial, Ophelia decided to wait for his return to confront him.
> 
> Inspiration by the song "Tetris", Pinguini Tattici Nucleari

“ _Tu eri per me_

_La consapevolezza_

_Che con l’aiuto del tempo anche un Magikarp è in grado_

_Di diventare Gyarados_ ”

(Tetris – PTN)

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

_“Our collaboration is over.”_

_Ophelia knew that an initiative on her part would only worsen her position, but she couldn’t stop her hand from extending towards Thorn to hold him back, to force him to turn around, to prevent him from walking away from her._

_She never reached him._

_A dazzling pain passed through her arm like an electric shock. Her breath cut off, Ophelia had to lean against the soldier’s statue in order not to fall. Her eyes widened behind her broken glasses as Thorn was swallowed by the night with a sinister squeak of steel, without looking back._

_He had used his claws against her._

Ophelia was waiting, hided near the walkway to the Secretarium. Under her uniform, her right arm was pulsing where Thorn’s claws had hit her. Her heart, instead, had forgotten how to beat, it seemed frozen inside her chest, a block of ice that made it difficult to breathe. She was trembling, squeezing her knees to her chest.

Thorn had rejected her. The image of his back walking away from her was imprinted on the retina of her eyes and the pain in her arm reminded her that what had happened was not a dream. He had put an end to their collaboration and treated her like an enemy. She had never felt so cold, not even after finding his cell empty three years before.

After what could have been seconds or eternity, she heard steps approaching and the metallic creak of Thorn’s armour. As if she were an automaton, Ophelia slowly stood up and, still shaking, she emerged from the darkness of her hiding place.

As she was walking and raising her head, the metallic creaking suddenly stopped. Thorn was standing still, as tall as ever, staring at her with burning intensity. He was a marble statue with fire in his eyes.

Her _husband._ That thought was like a punch in her gut, never as at that time that concept had seemed to her so out of space and time, so ridiculous. If she wasn’t so sure about Thorn’s incredible memory, she would wonder if he had forgotten about their marriage.

“You should not be here.” His voice was steel in the silence of the Memorial.

“I need to talk to you.” Ophelia was surprised by the firmness of her tone when everything else in her body looked like a house of cards about to collapse.

Without taking his eyes away from her, Thorn grabbed the keys in his pocket and put them in the column, waiting for the walkway to reach the door of the Secretarium. “If someone finds you here…”

“I don’t care.” She interrupted him and saw his jaw stiffening and his brows frowning. He gave her a small nod and slightly bent his head, signalling her to go first.

Ophelia took a small breath and moved stiffly to the Secretarium. Once she had opened the door, she walked towards Thorn’s office. They were the only two people inside the Secretarium, it was probably the middle of the night, but Ophelia had lost track of time. Thorn was walking a couple of meters behind her, the armour of his leg creaking with every step, his eyes fixed on the back of her head.

They entered the office and she stood still near the wall. Thorn closed the door and went to his room. He removed the jacket of his LUX uniform and folded it carefully on his bed before taking a bottle of disinfectant and putting some on his hands to clean them. He fixed the cuffs of his white shirt and returned to the office, standing near his desk, on the other side of the room.

“Why are you here?”

Ophelia brought one hand to her face to adjust the glasses on her nose and realized, seeing her fingers shaking, that she was terrified. Not of another attack of his claws, not of physical pain. She was full of terror because of what he could say to her. The bond that had formed between them at the Pole was broken and all that was left was an immense crater that grew larger and larger every day and that she did not know how to cross.

“You don’t trust me.” It wasn’t a question; she had become fully aware of it during their last meetings. “Back at the Pole, you asked me to trust you more than once, and I did. Even when it was very difficult, I did. But you have never trusted me.” Thorn was staring at her in silence. “I was late today because I was following a lead, and I think I’m on the right path.”

“As I have already told you, our collaboration is over.” It was like breathing ice, but at least fury was starting to warm Ophelia’s body.

“I had stopped Farouk! He had agreed to grant you a noble title and to release you from your bastard status! You would have undergone a new, fair trial. I was so happy in that moment, you know? But when I went back to that cell you had already disappeared.” Listening to her, something in Thorn’s face seemed to relax for the first time since Ophelia had found him in Babel. “Why didn’t you wait for me? Why didn’t you trust me? I’m your _wife._ ”

Thorn sighed and turned his head, staring at something invisible on the wall. “I don’t think the marriage has any validity outside that cell.” For a second Ophelia was taken aback by the accent of the Pole. What was the meaning of his words? Did he not consider her his wife? Had he found someone else? “I literally had a death sentence pending on my head, you were not in a position to freely make a choice.”

“You know, for someone with a perfect memory you seem to forget things too often.” Ophelia mumbled chewing on the glove on his right hand, but a pang of pain passed through her arm and forced her to stop.

Thorn’s glacial stare returned slowly on her. “I never forget anything.”

“Good. The night you were attacked at the Treasury, do you remember what you told me?”

“You wanted me to be honest to you.” He replied in a second. “You will thus learn that you are not just a pair of hands…”

“Not that.” She interrupted.

He furrowed his brows, probably going backwards in their conversation. “You will then be rid of a burdensome husband.”

“No,” Ophelia scoffed with annoyance. “When I was scared by you, you told me you would never do me any harm. The way you said it… Even if I was upset, I believed you.” Unintentionally, she grasped her arm in the spot where his claws had hit her. She saw her glasses becoming blue and heard her voice break. “What has changed?”

Thorn’s eyes had followed her movement and settled on her arm. In the span of a second, Ophelia observed the man’s face undergo a sudden transformation. The blank, perfect mask under which he hid his emotions had slipped away and, in a flash, his feelings were visible right in front of her. Horror. Rage. Fear. Disgust. _Pain?_

“I hit you.” His voice had changed too, like if it was coming from the bottom of a deep cave. It wasn’t a question, he seemed struck by an epiphany. Ophelia nodded anyway. Thorn didn’t notice, his eyes still burning a hole on her arm. “Earlier… Did you try to come near me?”

“I reached for you.” She was confused. “I wanted to stop you, to start our conversation over and…” Abruptly, Thorn turned to his desk and with a violent blow of his arm he threw half of the items on it to the ground. Bottles of alcohol loudly shattered in thousands of pieces, sending fragments of glass everywhere, documents fell in the pool of liquids forming on the pavement. Thorn bent over the desk and slammed his fists on the wooden surface, his whole body trembling with anger. Ophelia had never seen him so furious.

Shocked, she took a small step towards him, trying to avoid the glass. “What…”

“Keep your distance.”

Focused on the mess on the floor, she took one more step, careful not to stumble. “Why are you…”

“Ophelia!” He sounded like a lion roaring and Ophelia stopped dead on her feet, her legs shaking and her stomach clenching hearing him say her name. His was looking at her, eyes blazing with anger. “Keep. Your. Distance.”

All of a sudden, she felt a headache and a familiar sensation hit her.

Berenilde.

No, Berenilde was not there, but she knew that headache. It was the signal of dragon claws ready to strike but kept under control. However, Thorn did not appear as he had the situation under control. Fists still on the table, tense body, clenched jaw.

And then, Ophelia understood.

“You cannot control your claws.”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Give me a minute.”

Ophelia was overwhelmed with relief. She wanted to laugh. She was finally free from the enormous weight that had settled on her shoulder and in her chest without her noticing it. He had not attacked her. She was feeling light as a feather, as blood flowed back to her veins and warmed her. She wanted to laugh, and cry. He had not considered her an enemy. He had not rejected her. _He had not attacked her._

It was like breathing again after spending hours underwater.

Thorn sighed and seated on the stool behind his desk. He brought his hands to his face, his long fingers pressing on his forehead. He was exhausted. “I should have told you.” He exhaled. “During these years I kept away from the rest of the world to avoid such incidents… Since you reappeared in my life, I have tried to always have you in my field of vision, to be careful, but I should have known better.” He stared at her between his fingers when he heard her moving. “Stay over there. I’m still trying to contain it.”

“I have been hit by Freya, twice.” If he thought she was scared by his claws, he had it wrong. “Berenilde used her claws to train me. This is just a headache.” Ophelia stated passing by his desk.

“I have hurt you.”

“It’s nothing.” She was in front of him, for once at the same height, thanks to the fact that he was seated on the stool.

“Let me see it.”

“Seriously, it’s not…”

“Ophelia,” his tone brooked no argument. “Show me.”

Ophelia felt her cheeks flare up and started unbuttoning her uniform with trembling fingers. Even if they were married, even if she got used to the common toilets and showers of the Bonne Famille, she was still embarrassed by the idea of being in front of Thorn in just her vest. She put the jacket on the desk and at once the headache was gone. Thorn had completely retracted his claws.

“See?” She said turning again towards him and slightly lifting her arm. “It’s just an excoriation, the pain is almost gone and there will be no scars.”

Thorn put his hand behind her left elbow, bringing her closer to him, before taking her right arm. His hands were warmer than Ophelia expected, and she felt a fire in her lower abdomen when his fingertips started tracing the red marks on her skin. He was looking at her with burning intensity, but his hands were extremely careful. She had never been touched like that. It was strange having him so near, after so long. When she felt her head spinning, she realized she had stopped breathing.

“Am I hurting you?” He must had noticed the goosebumps on her skin and her stiffness.

Not trusting her voice, Ophelia simply shook her head.

He bent to open a drawer and she had to bite her lip not to let out a whimper of disappointment when his fingers left her arm. He took a bottle of disinfectant and poured part of it onto a cloth, then he gently rubbed it on her wounded skin.

She realized she had never had the chance to observe him so closely, for so long. His skin actually looked like marble and the scars on his face appeared as thin, pale traces.

“For three years I’ve been able to control all my emotions. Whenever I was angry, disgusted, upset, scared or annoyed, I hid it and I kept my distance. With the rest of the world, it has never been a problem” His hands stilled, and he looked up at her. “But you have the power to make me lose control over my feelings. You always had.” The expression on his face was destabilizing her, she could feel her legs shaking. “Earlier, when you told me how selfish I am, I let my fury and my hurt take over. And I _forgot_ to keep you in my field of vision. I didn’t expect you to reach for me, but that was my mistake. You never do what I expect you to.”

She was speechless. Between his words and his hands on her skin, her head had started spinning again, even if she was sure she was still breathing.

Thorn put down the cloth and bent again to take another flacon. “Even now, you should had run away from me, scared and disgusted. Instead, you are still here.” He put it on the table and unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt, before rolling up the sleeves.

Looking at his white forearms, covered in thin scars, Ophelia’s mouth dried. The fire in her abdomen expanded and even if she had never felt anything like that before, she understood. She wanted his hands and arms on her. On her skin, her body, everywhere.

Her glasses became red as her face. She was sure Thorn could hear the beating of her heart against her chest.

He squeezed some lotion on the palm of his hand and started massaging it slowly on her skin, luckily without looking at her face. “It will help with the pain.” He explained. Ophelia trembled slightly, searching her brain for something to say and he removed his hands from her skin. He cleaned himself and took her uniform, giving it to her. “You are cold.” She shook her head again. Cold? She was surprised she wasn’t sweating. Fire was burning in her veins and under her skin.

Thorn frowned and put the jacket back oh his desk. “What happened to your arms?”

Ophelia lowered her eyes and stared at the small scars left by the glass. She swallowed, hoping her voice would work. “Mediana’s cousins. They threw a bucket of glasses at me to avenge her.”

“When?” The icy coldness was back in his voice.

“The other day, before I came here to see you, in the morning. I was taking a shower. You would find more scars on the rest of my body.” She blushed even more realizing her words sounded like an invitation. “I mean…”

“A shower?” His body had become rigid and his eyes full of anger.

She nodded. She could feel the ghosts of his fingers on her arm. She was going crazy.

“Was Lady Septima’s son one of them?”

“Octavio?” She was surprised by his question. “No, he’s a son of Pollux.” As he surely knew.

“I talked with him earlier. He’s young, ambitious, smart and not anything like his mother.” Ophelia could hear a note of despite in his tone. “He is interested in you.”

“I know, he thinks I am the one that hurt Mediana.”

Something in Thorn’s eyes hardened and he gritted his teeth. “You never understand the effect you have on men.”

Ophelia stared at him in silence, while he rolled down his sleeves and buttoned the cuffs of his shirt. What was he trying to tell her? He grabbed the two flacons and put them back in the drawer. She could almost see the wall built around him closing again and leaving her outside. She could not allow it.

“My life on Anima was unbearable, but it was not because of my family.” She took a big breath, that was the moment to be honest. “I spent every second of the last three years thinking about you, wondering if you were alive, if I would ever see you again. I didn’t come on Babel to run away from my family, I came here to find you.”

He snorted. “You really never do what I expect you to.” Ophelia gaped at him. That was it? That was his reaction? “I disappeared from that cell without telling you because I wanted you to be free to go back to your life. The life I should had never interfered with. You could go back to your home, to your family, to your museum and be happy.”

“But I don’t want that life back.” Her voice broke and she lowered her eyes, shy. “I want you back.”

Thorn stared fiercely at her for some seconds, then grabbed her chin and lifted her face, making her blush. She had never seen that expression on him, he seemed exultant. “Ophelia, I am going to do something.” He fixed his eyes on hers. “If you slap me, my claws will probably react. So, in case, just push me away.”

“Why would I slap-“ she could never finish the sentence. Thorn had put one of his hand in her curls and pulled her to himself, slamming their mouths together.

It was totally different from their first kiss. Back then he had been shy, awkward, afraid of her reaction. In that moment he was the opposite. His mouth was warm, urgently pressing against hers. His fingers on her nape were keeping her in place. After a few seconds, when he understood she was not going to reject him, Thorn brought his other arm behind her back and pushed her against his chest. Startled by the movement, Ophelia moaned softly and open her mouth, allowing him to deepen their kiss. He moved his hand from her hair to her cheek and tasted her lips with his tongue. She was on fire; she grabbed his shirt collar with both her hands and tried to bring him even closer. His hand pressing on her back, she knew he could feel her naked skin under her light vest. His nose against hers, his tongue exploring her mouth, his teeth nibbling her bottom lip. He was devouring her.

They separated briefly, both panting, to catch their breath. Ophelia locked her arms behind his neck before going back to kiss him, hungrily. Thorn groaned and she thought she was going to melt on the floor. Without breaking their kiss, she was fighting with her gloves to remove them. She wanted to touch him, to feel his skin on her fingertips, his hair, his stubble that was scratching her chin. When she was finally able to remove one of her gloves, she grabbed his hair and pushed his head to change the angle of their kiss. Without her noticing, her foot hit the stool and made her fall backwards, bringing Thorn, that was perched on the edge of the stool, with her.

They loudly fell on the floor, covered in pools of alcohol, pieces of glasses and documents. Ophelia was laying on the floor on her back, Thorn’s body on top of hers, his hand on her nape had protected her head during the fall. They were both heavily panting.

Thorn was looking at her with worry. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she was still catching her breath and trying not to read anything with her bare hand, stuck between their bodies. “no.” She was fine. In any case, her brain was too busy registering their kiss and Thorn’s body glued to hers to focus on trivial things such as pain.

He intensely stared at her in silence for a few seconds. He was so close Ophelia could count his eyelashes. “Good.” He pushed on his arms to get up but winced when he heard a grinding noise coming from his armour. He rolled over and sat on the floor, looking at his leg.

“How is your leg?” She asked after catching her breath, sitting in front of him. Thorn looked away from his body, almost embarrassed. “I would prefer not to talk about it.”

“Can you repair it?”

He nodded. “There is a toolbox under my bed. If you could take it…”

Ophelia stood up and picked up her glove, putting it on before moving towards his bedroom. “Ophelia.” She turned around, looking at him. It was weird seeing him like that, sitting in what appeared like the aftermath of an explosion, with his hair messed up and his shirt wrinkled. “You did not slap me.”

For the millionth time that night, Ophelia felt her cheeks turn red. “I did not.”

His eyes were gleaming. “Was that your attempt to push me away?”

Her glasses were blushing, too. “No.” She had rather tried to pull him closer. He hummed.

She entered the bedroom and took the box, glancing curiously at the rest of the room, before going back.

“Here.” She said putting the box on the floor, near his leg, and sitting again. Thorn opened it and took a wrench and some screwdrivers. Ophelia was observing him working with fascination.

“You don’t have to look at it.” He scoffed, fixing some screws.

“It doesn’t seem to me that your leg prevents you from doing… things.” His hands stilled and he raised his brows, watching her with surprise. “Things?”

Ophelia saw her glasses becoming scarlet pink, almost purple, and she knew that time there was no possibility he had not noticed. “I mean, you still walk a lot faster than me.” She mumbled focusing on her feet.

“My legs are much longer than yours,” he replied going back to his work. “And I can easily endure the pain. The problem is, I always have to be careful.” He finished repairing his armour in silence, then put the tools back in the box and stood up, extending his hand to help her. “So, what is your lead?”

Ophelia tried to fix her curls with her fingers and flattened her clothes. How had they gone from kissing to talking about their investigation in the span of some minutes? “I think I found what you are looking for. Miss Silence destroyed some books in the incinerator,” she wanted to add that she had been late for their meeting because she had been trapped in that room but remembering his expression when she had told him of her scars, she decided not to. “They were books for children, written by a certain E.D. She destroyed all of them right before dying, but one survived. She was sure someone had stolen it.”

“Do you know where that book is?”

She shook her head. “No, but there are some people I can ask.”

Thorn looked at her, shifting his glaze from her hair to her feet. “It’s a good lead.” He agreed and Ophelia knew it was the biggest compliment she could ask for.

He took his fob watch in his hand and the cover opened and closed with a tac-tac. “You have to go.” He continued. “The sun will rise soon, and they cannot find you here. I will investigate too, trying to find more information about that book.” He grabbed her jacket and held it open for her, but he tensed staring at her right arm. “Ophelia, I am deeply sorry.” He whispered and the devastation in his face broke her heart. “I know I cannot ask for your forgiveness, but I want you to know that I never wanted to hurt you. And if the idea of me touching you, of my hands, disgusts you… I understand.”

Ophelia was confused. Was he actually asking her if she was disgusted by him after _that_ kiss? “I am not. Disgusted.” She specified getting closer to him, so that he could put the jacket on her. “My fear was that you hated me or considered me your enemy.” She admitted softly starting to button her uniform.

“No. Never.”

They stared at each other for a while, in complete silence. Ophelia wondered how she had survived that day. His words, his attack, his fury, his hands, his kiss. Had he noticed all the turmoil he had created in her? Had she had the same effect on him? Looking at him, she knew she was not a kid anymore. She wanted to destroy God, to find the Other, to be free to live her life again. And she wanted him.

Thorn pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. “For once, please, be careful.”

She nodded and moved away from him. It was time to go.

She looked one last time at him, trying to engrave all the things that had happened in her memory, then she walked towards the door.

But before opening it, she stopped again. “I have something else to tell you.”

Thorn, who was starting to tidy up the mess on the floor, turned to her, waiting.

Ophelia took a deep breath and recognized in his eyes the same spark she had seen when he had stopped her from leaving, just over a day earlier.

She smiled. “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can decide in your head if Ophelia left the Secretarium right after, and thus this chapter can be squeezed in in the story (with just some modifications), or if she didn't leave and... you know ;)
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	3. Vertigo II (Thorn POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We’re living in a truly enigmatic world,” she said, over the noise of the rain falling on the wall. She turned around, her eyes on him. “I’ve been reading all sorts of objects for years, and yet I feel as if I know nothing. An Earth shattered to pieces. Deliberately forgetful family spirits. Indecipherable Books. You.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thorn POV for that kiss on the wall.
> 
> I love and I hate writing Thorn. It's so fricking difficult!  
> Twice, in this chapter, he stops before saying something to Ophelia. I spent two days asking him (the him in my head) what he wanted to say and I'm still not sure. 
> 
> As I promised, here's the kiss.  
> Let me know what you think!

_“Tu eri per me_

_La terza dell’accordo_

_La nota più importante che decideva la sorte_

_Delle mie giornate vuote”_

(Tetris – PTN)

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thorn watched Ophelia approach alone, with her dress and hair blowing in the wind. Her sister, terrified of the void, had stopped at the end of the tunnel, much to his relief. He was not going to miss her. In that moment he also understood why Ophelia had refused her great-uncle’s and her father’s offer to accompany them. She had been clever.

“I now understand better why, of all the possible chaperones, you picked that chatterbox.” He said, admired, when she was at his side, setting off again with a less hurried pace. He knew her legs were too short to walk as fast as him. However, Ophelia didn’t seem happy of his remark.

“I had something to ask of you,” she mumbled, “and I wanted to do so in private.”

He had guessed that was the reason she wanted them to be alone. “What, then?”

“An apology.”

Still walking, Thorn glanced at her, slightly taken aback by her demand. She seemed upset, but there was no anger in her voice. Looking at her stuffing her hair under the scarf, he was surprised not to see her fly away, blown by the wind. She was so small.

“Why would I apologize?” After all, he had agreed to her requests and had put up with her family for almost two hours. “You asked me for a home, I offer you a castle. I have kept all my promises to you.”

“I’m talking about my parents.” She scoffed. “You were supposed to reassure them. All you had to do was make a good impression for an hour, Thorn. One small hour. Instead, you clinch a deal with my mother.”

A good impression? Him? He had never made a good impression on anyone before, in his whole life. Surely Ophelia couldn’t expect him to start with his future mother-in-law. She hated him and he despised her, a deal was the best thing they could have. “And she is reassured.”

“Reassured?” She replied with annoyance. “She’s exultant, yes. You’ve given her total control over my life.” _Oh,_ yeah. That was the problem. She had not paid attention during their meal, even if he had tried to make her understand, fixing her with his stare.

“I promised her that _I_ wouldn’t oppose her will.” He specified. Freedom was the only thing she would ever accept from him. He was not going to throw away that possibility of making her happy. “That promise binds only me.”

Thorn observed Ophelia thinking in silence for a moment. To his confusion, she did not seem satisfied, let alone happy, by his answer. He had made sure she could freely choose her future. Why did it look like she was still trapped? What was that he was not able to grasp in that woman?

“Say I take you at your word,” she muttered without looking at him. “Say I leave the Pole straight after the Ceremony of the Gift, and I never return. That would make you the most ridiculous of husbands.”

Was she worried about _him?_ “First, I am going to see to it that you survive until our marriage,” he grumbled. The more time he spent with her, the more she appeared to him as a magnet for catastrophes. And they still had four days before their wedding. “You will pass your Animism on to me, I will free you from your conjugal obligations, we will be even. What you decide to do next will be your business.” He took a breath. He wanted to explain himself better, to let her know that he was always going to consider her his wife, but he would never go against her wishes. And he knew her life was not at the Pole.

Before he could speak, explosions cut through the wind. The wall’s cannons were firing. A Beast was probably getting too close to the town. Thorn went back to focus on Ophelia. From her expression, he figured she was conflicted. _But why?_

“What about the diplomatic alliance?” she asked, her voice almost getting lost in the wind. “You and Berenilde were forever waving that argument in my face to keep me quiet. Do you think Mr. Farouk will accept it, if I spend my time at the other end of the world?”

She was afraid of Farouk, that made sense. “He will forget you, as long as he doesn’t have you continually in front of him,” he asserted, and for a terribly long second, he wished that could be true for him too. He had never particularly loved, or hated, his perfect memory. He knew it was a burden he had to bear, but at least it made him excellent at his job. In that moment however, his power seemed just a curse. With time she would forget about him, yet he was going to remember every instant spent with her, for the rest of his life. It was torture. A bit more than that, even. “All that counts is his Book,” he continued, “and the Book, that’s…”

“Your business, I know.” Ophelia noisily blew her nose and he glanced at her. Sometimes her body was so fragile, even with all that determination inside her. “You have only given yourself three months for tackling this reading,” she reminded him with a serious tone. “Do you really think you can do it without anyone to teach you how to master your new power? Stop wanting to carry the whole world on your shoulders.”

Thorn stopped dead in his tracks, deeply perplexed. He was not expecting that. He put is hand in the pocket of his coat, reaching for his fob watch, before remembering he had given it to her. With a sigh, he gripped the dices at the bottom of the pocket for a brief moment, then fixed the collar of his coat, trying to regain his composure. Why did she care? He had done all he could to keep her out of it, much to her annoyance, and yet she wanted to help him. She had told him to stop carrying the whole world on his shoulder and he had had to fight the strange impulse that told him to hug her. No one had ever offered to help him carry that weight. And even if he was never going to put part of that weight, that _danger_ , on her shoulders, he wondered if he would ever love her more than in that moment.

“What happened to the outer wall, over there?” she quickly changed the subject of their conversation. He was staring at her, but Ophelia was carefully avoiding his eyes. Leaning on the parapet, she indicated a distant part of the wall, where the fortifications suddenly stopped at the edge of the void, leaving a large hole full of clouds.

“It collapsed,” he replied, still watching her. Had she really meant her words? Was she embarrassed? “A section of land fell away at that spot, four years ago.”

Ophelia immediately pulled away from the parapet, and he had to admit he was relieved. She was usually so clumsy he wouldn’t be surprised to see her fall over the edge. “A collapse?” she repeated, incredulous. “Of that size?”

“That one wasn’t that big,” he specified, once again surprised. Collapses were not recent news. “A section several miles long broke away from a minor ark of Heliopolis, two years ago. Don’t you ever read the interfamilial newspapers?”

Ophelia shook her head, visibly shocked. She stared at the void for a while and Thorn could see a thousand of rapid thoughts passing behind her eyes. He waited in silence, looking at her. Sometimes she had the power to make his work and commitments seem distant, in space and time.

Drops of rain began to fall from the sky. One fell on his hand, another one on her nose. In a few seconds a cold downpour was pounding the whole wall and he observed Ophelia try to shield her glasses and her hair from the rain. Looking at her white hands, he realized she was very cold.

“We’re living in a truly enigmatic world,” she said, over the noise of the rain falling on the wall. She turned around, her eyes on him. “I’ve been reading all sorts of objects for years, and yet I feel as if I know nothing. An Earth shattered to pieces. Deliberately forgetful family spirits. Indecipherable Books. You.”

He clenched his jaw, lost in her. She looked so young with her hair plastered to her face and her cheeks reddened by the cold wind. Did she actually want to know him? He could try to explain everything. His past, his memory, his plan, his thoughts about her and their wedding. He exhaled, looking for the right words, when a second explosion rose in the distance and startled him.

He couldn’t. He had to put his feelings away.

He drove his eyes away from her. She already knew too much, he couldn’t risk putting her in even a greater danger. He had to go back to his office before saying, or doing, something he would regret.

“Let’s get a move on,” he said, gruffly. He put his briefcase under his coat, to protect his documents from the rain, and started to walk towards the sentry box. “I can’t linger any longer and you are going to catch cold again.”

He could feel Ophelia’s eyes on his back as he moved away. He didn’t know if she was going to follow him or go back to her sister.

When he reached the sentry box, he turned around and saw her running under the rain to join him. They sheltered under the canopy of the sentry box and he hoped she was not freezing to death.

“When will you return?” she asked.

He raised his brows, surprised by the question. Why was she making things so difficult? “I still have many inspections to carry out in the provinces.” He admitted, conflicted. In the next few days he was going to be quite busy. He quickly reached for the dices in his pocket, again. But if she wanted him to go back, if she _needed_ him to be there… He would find the time. “When would you like me to return?”

“Me?” asked Ophelia, clearly taken aback by his question. “I suppose it depends mainly on your duties. Just try not to forget the wedding.”

Thorn gritted his teeth. Did she _want_ him to go back to her before their weeding? As usual, he could not understand her. “I never forget anything.” Even without his perfect memory, he certainly would have not forgotten about their wedding.

“You’ve just reminded me,” Ophelia exclaimed, after wiping her glasses, and he turned towards her with curiosity. “I forgot to inform you of your aunt’s latest whim: Berenilde has asked me to be her child’s godmother.”

He arched his brows, not really surprised. From a political point of view, Ophelia was the best choice his aunt could make. But he also knew that Berenilde actually loved that girl. “That’s far from a whim. You are now part of the family.” He declared. Surely not the family she had wished for before meeting him, but for him and his aunt she would always be a part of it.

“That request doesn’t surprise me,” he tried to explain. “My aunt is going to bring Farouk’s direct descendant into the world. Those close to this child will be assured a choice position at court. It’s also my position she’s reinforcing, at the same time.” He knew he was not going to love his cousin, he never liked kids and that one was going to replace him in Berenilde’s heart. For that reason, he had not been unhappy when his aunt had chosen someone else as the baby’s godfather. But the Ambassador… In another life he would have liked to share that role with Ophelia. Another wonderful life, with no Archibald.

But not that one.

“That said, my opinion is that you should decline the offer,” he continued. “Your place isn’t, and has never been, at court.” She was too honest, to curious, too attracted to dangers for a terrible place like the court.

At his words, he saw a flash of annoyance pass in Ophelia’s eyes. He was expecting a retort to his consideration, but he was surprised when she talked: “I met your mother yesterday.”

She seemed surprised by her words, too. He felt his body freeze.

His mother.

Not the name he would have used. That woman had never shown him any sign of love. She had transmitted him her power and then she had used him, to pass him her terrible memories. The memories that had defined his whole life. He tensed his jaw. When he had told Ophelia that she was never going to meet her, he had meant it. As always with her, his predictions had turned out to be wrong. Her predisposition for disasters defeated every logic. If he really wanted to protect her and to be sure she was going to make it alive to their wedding, he had to work harder.

“Berenilde told me what happened to her,” she continued, and he got closer to her, gritting his teeth. “I was wondering… If you really inherited her memory before her Mutilation, might it be possible for you to… well… to give it back to her?” he clenched his fists. _Give it back?_ Why was she always getting involved in things she should have nothing to do with? Why could she never listen to him? “I don’t mean to imply that she deserves an affectionate gesture from you,” she hastened to clarify and he took a deep breath. Anger was starting to rise in his body. “I know that your mother didn’t have a single one for you. It was mainly that I felt that her memory was an additional burden.”

“You know nothing.”

An additional burden. That was _the burden._ And it had absolutely nothing to do with her. A long time ago he had decided to put his life on the line in order to carry out his plan. He had to marry her and to use her power. But he was _not_ going to put her life in danger. He could feel his claws ready at the end of his nerves, as fury flowed through his vein. She had to stay out of it.

Ophelia must had sensed his claws too, because she tensed and took a step back. He tried to breathe and calm down.

“Indeed,” she admitted between her teeth. “I know nothing.”

Four days. Four days and they would be married. Whatever she would decide after the wedding, it was going to be easier for him to protect her.

Four days.

He took out the Treasury keys, and after inspecting them, he inserted one into the sentry-box lock, opening the Compass Rose.

“Do not leave the hotel anymore,” he ordered her, hoping that for once she was going to listen. “Be careful about the people you frequent, the food you swallow, and the air you breathe until my return.” He would find the time to check on her every day. He could already imagine her putting herself in danger. “The Invisible is looking out for your safety, avoid making her task more difficult. If you follow my recommendations to the letter, nothing will happen to you.” He sighed, torn between the urges to hold her and to scream at her.

Ophelia glanced behind her, probably looking for the Invisible. Thorn observed her shiver and fought against his instinct, once more. That day was getting on his nerves, he had to go back to the Treasury.

“Wait,” muttered Ophelia, and he saw her put one hand in the pocket of her coat to take out, to his surprise, his fob watch. His fury, in an instant, was gone.

Had she read the watch? Had she read what he felt for her? Was that the reason for all those strange conversation on that wall?

“Before you go, I would like to return this to you. You need it more than me, and, in any case, I won’t read it. I’ve chosen to trust you—you, not your watch.”

He was astonished. She had not read it.

And yet, she trusted him.

He looked down at her hand holding his watch. No one else had ever trusted him. Not so completely. No one else, besides Berenilde, had ever cared.

Could it be possible that…? No.

His brain was starting to make calculations, but he knew he could not rationally or statistically analyze her feelings.

“I… I don’t understand,” Ophelia stammered as she opened his watch. One of the hands had stopped moving, but in that moment his brain was too focused on her to care. He closed his fist around the watch, his eyes fixed on her.

The last time he had touched his fob watch, right before giving it to her, he had thought of her, of his feelings for her, of his plan; so that she could read all of it when she needed it. Without realizing it, he had given her a part of his heart. Was she doing the same, somehow?

His head, that was rapidly dissecting all the memories he had of her, was starting to believe she could feel something for him. But if he had learnt anything, it was that his brain could not fully grasp the mystery she was. With her, his calculations were always wrong.

“I wound it again this morning…” she continued, looking at him with worry. “A grain of sand must have got into the works.”

Sure, that was a calculation he had never even considered before. Because he had been certain he would never fall in love. Wrong.

He had been certain she would not survive the winter. Wrong.

Against all odds, was he right in that moment?

Well, he was sure he was going to do something stupid and he was going to regret it.

“My great-uncle can heal any object,” Ophelia was still talking about his watch. “All things considered, you should leave it with me a little longer.”

He needed to know.

Leaning over, he placed his mouth on hers.

Even under the pouring rain, her lips were warm. He could feel her nose, as cold as ice, against his skin. Her hair, completely soaked, brushed his cheekbone. He could taste the surprise caused by that kiss on her lips.

Kissing her was everything he had imagined and nothing at all.

And for a long, exhilarating second, he hoped she would accept the kiss.

Then, in a flash, her hand slapped him and she took a step back.

Thorn straightened up, rubbing his cheek. She was stronger than he thought, but the sting of his cheek was nothing compared to the pain inside him.

As he had predicted, he regretted the kiss. And he couldn’t say he was surprised by her reaction. What would have been more typical of Ophelia than doing exactly what he expected her to do, at the least opportune moment?

“Listen,” she stammered, still shocked by his actions. “I didn’t want… You shouldn’t have…”

He had been stupid. But he would not listen to her explain or apologize for her feelings. Listening to her say that she would never love him once was enough.

“I had my doubts, you have dispelled them.” And that was it. He loved her. She did not love him. He should have just kept his stupid feelings for himself instead of kissing her.

Anyway, he thought passing through the sentry-box door as his claws extended around him, in four days it would all be over. Four days.

“I will do everything possible so that you survive until the wedding,” he promised without looking at her. “When it is all over, return home with your family. Ridicule has never killed me.”

He locked the door behind him without waiting for her answer and he opened the door leading to the Treasury.

Four days, then they would be married and she would pass her power to him. Four days, then she would go back to Anima and he would go back to his normal, easier life.

Four days.

Then he would burn down all his memories of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my head I'm writing at least another Thorn POV (ahahah, help me) from book 2 and a missing moment from book 4. No idea how much time I'll need to actually write them.  
> Hope you liked this chapter!  
> X  
> Gin


	4. The Favour (Missing moment)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was staring at the door of his cell, wondering what he was waiting for.  
> He just hoped he was not receiving a visit from Farouk. Or Ophelia.  
> He had no intention of undergoing mutilation, his plan was to die much earlier than that. As for his ex-fiancée, he was in no condition to see her. He wished she had already left the Pole.  
> When the door opened, eleven minutes later, Farouk did not seem such a terrible option anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was actually working on Thorn POV for the wedding when I thought "Oh, let's add a flashback of his previous meeting with Archibald! Just the moment when he asked for the gun." But then the moment in my head got bigger and here it is.
> 
> A missing moment from The Missing of Clairdelune: Archibald visits Thorn in prison
> 
> Let me know what you think! ;)

Thorn was seated in a small chair, cuffed to the table, in just his trousers, covered in blood. The visits from Baron Melchior’s friends had stopped seventy-two minutes earlier, when the guards had forced him on the chair and told him to wait. From his leg, bent at an odd angle, pain was irradiating to the rest of his body, making his chest and forehead glisten with sweat. He had an excellent pain resistance, but the agony coming from his massacred leg was far worse than any torture he had ever endured.

He was staring at the door of his cell, wondering what he was waiting for.

He just hoped he was not receiving a visit from Farouk. Or Ophelia.

He had no intention of undergoing mutilation, his plan was to die much earlier than that. As for his ex-fiancée, he was in no condition to see her. He wished she had already left the Pole.

When the door opened, eleven minutes later, Farouk did not seem such a terrible option anymore.

In between two guards, the Ambassador was widely smiling at him, like someone meeting an old friend. Thorn gritted his teeth.

“My dear, dear Mr. Ex-Treasurer!” he exclaimed approaching the table with a cocksure stride.

“Keep your distance Mr. Ambassador, the prisoner is a dangerous man!” one of the guards warned him, but the man just dismissed them with a wave of the hand and let himself fall on the chair on the other part of the table.

“I come here as a messenger,” Archibald continued when the guards left the cell, ignoring Thorn’s glare. He put his feet on the table and removed his hat. “But firstly, let me say it. I didn’t know this was what you were hiding under your uniform!” He smirked pointing at his chest and staring at his scars. Thorn felt all of his muscles tense. “I know many women that would find it extremely sexy. And I’m _so_ curious! Is your sweet, little fiancée one of them?”

Thorn blocked Ophelia’s image out of his brain and his claws extended at the end of his nervous system. For an instant he got lost in his desire to hit Archibald. The pain in his leg was nothing compared to the annoyance that man caused him.

“Why are you here?”

“You know,” he went on as if Thorn had not spoken. “I never thought the day would come for you to fall in love.” Archibald put his hand through one of the holes in his hat and his smile stretched. “But does she know? Because, how can I say it… Our dear Ophelia seems to me a bit blind in the matters of the heart.”

The idea of hitting him was becoming to Thorn more and more pleasurable with each passing second.

“Why are you here?”

“I get why you fell so hard for her,” Archibald sighed and Thorn growled. He was losing his patience. “The girl is pretty impressive. From what I’ve heard, and I’ve very good sources even if I’m not part of the Web anymore, she went to Farouk this morning.” Thorn clenched his fists on the table. That meant that Ophelia was still there, at the Pole. “The whole court knows that she got a new deal and I think we both know how she did it.” He concluded, winking at him.

Thorn felt his blood freeze.

She had read the Book.

He had no idea how she had done it, but that was the only way she could have got a new deal from Farouk. During all that time, he had tried to keep her out if it in every possible way but at the end he had failed. His chest tightened. He had failed her and put her in a terrible danger.

“What is the deal?”

Archibald crossed his arms behind his head and whistled for a little bit. He looked like he had never had so much fun as in that prison. Thorn scoffed. “No idea. But let’s use our brains!” he suggested with a smile. “They’ve stopped torturing you and I know they’re waiting for someone to come here. I was an unexpected surprise.” Unexpected and unwelcomed, from Thorn’s point of view. “Let’s recap the latest events… They told me you’ve destroyed the contract you signed with Farouk. By the way, very chivalrous of you to try to protect her risking your own life. Then, I don’t know how, she found me and saved me, and you killed our dear Baron Melchior…”

Thorn scoffed again. “Your dear Baron Melchior was trying to kill you.”

Archibald briefly laughed and nodded. “That’s a way to see it. But even if I’d like to think that you killed him to avenge me,” he winked, “I know that’s not the actual reason. Then you confessed the killing, what a stupid move, and Ophelia went running to Lord Farouk. You’re both still alive, so I guess she succeeded where nobody else did. She read the Book, but Farouk is not happy. He’s not happy _at all._ ”

Removing all the frills from the Ambassador’s words, it was clear to Thorn what Ophelia must had asked. “My contract is back on the table.” He muttered. Ophelia had read the Book, but she probably was not able to answer Farouk’s questions, so she was hoping he could do a better job using both their powers. He felt a warm feeling spreading in his chest.

They would get married.

However, he was not so naïve to think her plan could work.

“That’s what I think, too.” Archibald agreed throwing his hat in the air and catching it again. “They’ve stopped torturing you because you have to be ready for your wedding.”

Thorn stared at him in silence. That was the message he had come to tell him, but he was sure there was something else. Knowing he was going to marry Ophelia and read the Book a few hours in advance made not difference. He was stuck in that cell.

“You should be happy, Mr. Ex-Treasurer.” Archibald sighed, suddenly becoming serious. “She cares enough about you to risk everything just to save you.”

He was not happy. She had accepted his decision, his fate, and he had actually hoped she would go back to Anima with her family. Back to her normal life. No ice, no illusions, no burdensome future-husbands, no dangers. He was not even sure it was _care_ what was driving her, and not just her sense of justice.

“Love makes you seem human.” Archibald stood up from his chair. “I envy you.”

“Why are you here?”

He put his hat back on his head and started to pace in front of him. “I don’t know if I see it like that, but it’s common opinion that you and your sweet fiancée saved me. I’m sure you understand, I cannot let you die or be mutilated if I still owe you a favour.”

Thorn snorted. Well, that was unexpected. “I do not want any favour from you.”

The Ambassador shrugged his shoulders. “Then you should not have saved me.”

“I did not.”

Archibald bent his head and laughed. “Oh, I know!”

Thorn had never understood how people could think that man was funny. But he also knew for sure that Ophelia _cared_ about him. “The court thinks I was the one behind your disappearance.”

“See it as a moral issue. Could you live with yourself if you’d owe me anything?” Thorn gritted his teeth. “Me neither. I don’t have the power to take you out of this,” he continued putting his hands on the table. “And I’m pretty sure you don’t want me to. So, tell me what you need.”

The answer was easy. His brain had been thinking about it since he was put in that cell. “I need a gun.”

Archibald closed his eyes with a little smile. “ _A gun_. The man with the power to hurt anyone wants a gun. Well, anyone expect from one person…”

“My power has a limitation.” He agreed tensing his jaw.

The Ambassador opened his eyes and stared at him. “You don’t trust your future wife.”

“I trust her too well.” He admitted. Ophelia would surely surprise him again if she had the chance to carry out her plan. “But she should not be involved in this, it’s time to put an end to it. I won’t undergo the mutilation, I want to decide how and when I die.” He declared and, surprisingly, he saw a flash of understanding pass through Archibald’s eyes.

“You’ll have your gun.”

“Stop Ophelia,” Thorn added quickly. “Stop her, block the wedding and tell her that I…”

“Oh, no no no.” The Ambassador interrupted him stepping away from the table, shaking his head. “I owe you a favour, you’ll have that gun. But I won’t interfere with her plan. And above all, I won’t tell her your last, loving words. If you want her to know, you’ll have to do it. My advice is, be sure to spell it out to her… As I said, she seems to me a bit blind.” Archibald smiled to him, extremely satisfied with himself.

Thorn closed his eyes and took a deep breath. How he hated that man.

“Anyway, I have a question.” The other man said, with a mischievous smile. “Are you sure you want to die and leave her a widow? Because dead husband or not, you _know_ how much I love married women!”

In a split of a second, fury flowed through Thorn’s veins and he felt his claws expand, connecting to Archibald’s nervous system and striking him.

The ambassador fell to the floor, as if hit by an electric shock, and he started laughing wildly. “Jealousy fits you, Mr. Ex-Treasurer.” He took off his shoes and stood up, flattening his clothes. “I’ll be back in a little while with your fiancée and your gun.” He turned his back to Thorn, getting closer to the door, and waved the shoes in his hand as a greeting. “Get ready, you’ll want to look nice for your wedding!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! Next chapter will be ready in a few days, I think.  
> I also have some ideas from the fourth book, but I'm waiting to read the italian edition just to be sure I got everything right.  
> X  
> Gin


	5. The Memory (Thorn POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some parts of his brain registered the presence of a magistrate, policemen, four guards and the Ambassador, briefly wondering if Archibald had actually brought him what he had asked for. But his eyes were focused only on Ophelia. 
> 
> She was still alive. She was still there. Thorn could see her eyes examining him with apprehension and disgust. When he had told Berenilde that he would not make an effort on his wedding day, he surely could not imagine he would be in those conditions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here it is: Ophelia and Thorn's wedding from Thorn POV.   
> This chapter is also the direct continuation of chapter 4.  
> I hope you like it! :)
> 
> I have some ideas for other chapters, but posting will probably become irregular... I need more inspiration and, sadly, I also have to write my thesis
> 
> Inspiration by the song "Tetris" because it's absolutely perfect for them

_“Tutto iniziò con uno “sposami” detto con indifferenza_

_E finì con un “piacer di far la tua conoscenza”_

_(Oh ma che incoscienza)”_

(Tetris – PTN)

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The door of the cell opened and Thorn observed a group of people come in. His leg, broken and battered, was still torturing him. Because of that excruciating pain, his body was covered in sweat, making the powder they had put on his face to cover his bruises useless. The shirt he was wearing, too small for him, was stuck to his chest and the sleeves could not cover the scars on his arms.

Some parts of his brain registered the presence of a magistrate, policemen, four guards and the Ambassador, briefly wondering if Archibald had actually brought him what he had asked for. But his eyes were focused only on Ophelia.

She was still alive. She was still there. Thorn could see her eyes examining him with apprehension and disgust. When he had told Berenilde that he would not make an effort on his wedding day, he surely could not imagine he would be in _those_ conditions.

“Please be seated, miss,” the magistrate said, indicating a chair to Ophelia. “We may begin.”

Ophelia seated on the other side of the table and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. He didn’t care about anybody else in that room. Her long hair was tied up in a bun on her head and behind her glasses dark shadows were visible under her eyes. A sudden thought passed through his mind. Did Baron Melchior’s illusion have a worse, longer effect that what he expected? Or was she just tired?

She met his eyes, looking almost intimidated. His mind couldn’t grasp why she was still there, hopelessly trying to save him.

The magistrate started the ceremony: “We are gathered here today to celebrate the marriage of Mr. Thorn, descendant of our Lord Farouk—although by way of an unconventional lineage—and Miss Ophelia, descendant of Madam Artemis. Marriage is more than the celebration of family, it is at once its foundation and its crown, it is the family itself, in essence and in perpetuity!”

Thorn couldn’t care less about the magistrate. He was trying to engrave every little detail of her in his memory. Just a few days earlier, on that wall, before taking the stupid decision of kissing her, he had wished he could be like Farouk. He had wished he could lose his memory and make Ophelia completely disappear from his mind. But seated in that cell, in that moment, he was studying her. He wanted to know everything about her. He calculated the angle between her nose and her upper lip, counted the number of moles he could see on her skin, compared the shade of red of her mouth to all the other colors he had seen in his life.

Ophelia, in front of him, was squirming under his stare and two thousands one hundred and twenty eight seconds later, when the magistrate gave her the documents to sign, Thorn watched her snap the nib of a pen, tear a sheet of paper and knock over the ink pot twice before signing the papers. Trying not to dwell on his memory of Ophelia spilling ink on another table, in what seemed like a different life, Thorn took the pen and put his sign on the papers. Fixing his eyes on her he realized, however selfish it was, that he was happy.

“I declare you husband and wife!” exclaimed the magistrate and Thorn breathed.

_Wife_.

Not even when his Aunt had told him that she had found a woman for him had he actually believed he would get married. Love was not part of his original plan at all. Yet in that cell he found himself hoping that Ophelia’s plan would work.

“I will let Mr. Ambassador take over for the ceremony of the Gift.”

Archibald got near the table. “Move your chair closer to your husband, miss… oops… Madam Thorn.” He said with a smirk as Ophelia took her place next to him. “That will be perfect. Now, I am going to serve as a bridge between you both in order to allow your family powers to combine. You may experience slight discomfort, but it will soon pass.”

Thorn had never stopped looking at Ophelia. He had waited for the ceremony of the Gift for months and then, in that moment, he was dreading it. A part of him wanted to scream at her, _at his wife_ , to run and never come back, to accept his decision, to let him die. To save him, she was going to receive not only a terrible power but also a burdensome, perfect memory. He gritted his teeth, wondering if he was worth all that she was risking.

Archibald placed one hand on his head, and the other on Ophelia’s one and Thorn realized it was too late to stop her. He had to trust her and her plan.

He felt a warm sensation spreading in his body, in his veins and then, finally, in his forehead. He felt Ophelia’s curious stare on him and he tensed his jaw.

He was an Animist, she was a Dragon. They were married.

Archibald withdrew his hand and Thorn looked expectantly at him.

“Good, good, good,” sang out the magistrate, putting the papers into his briefcase. “I think everything is in order. We’re going to withdraw, to leave you to… well… to do what you have to do.” He continued with a slightly mischievous tone and Thorn wanted to snort. Did he think _that_ was the reason why Ophelia was marrying him in such a hurry? “The squad superintendent will come to release you tomorrow morning, at six o’clock, dear madam,” he concluded, turning to Ophelia.

“Six o’clock?” she said, indignantly. “We need more time.”

“The rules are the rules, dear madam,” the magistrate replied, departing in a swirl of gown.

Archibald raised his top hat and took one of his strapped hands in his.

“I’ll take care of informing your parents and Berenilde. All my compliments, Mr. Ex-Treasurer!” Thorn grabbed the small gun he was passing him with the smallest nod of his head. He had prepared himself, not exactly knowing what to expect from his new power, but when he touched the cold metal, he felt nothing.

No memory, no impression, no emotion.

He could not read it.

“Make the most of your short honeymoon!” Archibald finished with a wink, staring at his small shirt with a knowing smile.

Had Thorn not been so focused on his thoughts, he would have wanted to hit him with his claws again.

He perfectly remembered telling Ophelia that she had to be perceptive to receive his powers. Was that the problem? Was he not enough perceptive to be a reader? Had is mood interfered with the Gift ceremony?

It didn’t matter.

He could not read the gun. Ophelia’s plan would not work.

“Move away from the prisoner, Mr. Ambassador,” advised the squad superintendent. “He’s dangerous.”

When the other men had left the cell, the squad superintendent released his hands from the cuffs on the table and locked the gate. “If you have the slightest problem, madam, call security.” He said with a worry look to Ophelia. Then the door closed.

They were alone.

He looked at her in silence.

He could not read the gun, thus he would not be able to read the Book. Farouk was going to be furious. He didn’t exactly know the terms in Ophelia’s deal but he was absolutely sure he was not going to survive. Farouk would want to mutilate him, but he was not going to allow it.

But firstly, he had to save her.

He needed to think, fast.

“This isn’t at all what I wanted,” she burst out and he slightly raised his brows. Did she not want the marriage? “Well, yes, I wanted to maintain the marriage, but I didn’t want to precipitate your sentence. I was counting entirely on that delay of a week to appeal, do you see?” She continued with a note of desperation and he felt a pang of pain in his chest, similar to the pain coming from his leg. He had hoped to avoid it, but he was going to die. That meant he had to tell her goodbye. “Baron Melchior spoke of the interfamilial High Court, and… and that gave me an idea. It’s not only to me that you’re now linked, but to all the Animists. I swear to you that if Mr. Farouk had allowed me the time, I would have made sure that you were put under a different jurisdiction. You would have had the right to a real trial, no one would have mistreated you, I would have testified, and… and… Thorn,” she whispered, drawing her chair closer, “what I read in that Book, I don’t even know where to start.”

As he thought, she had read the Book. The one thing he had tried to keep her away from.

She started telling him about her reading and he listened carefully. She talked about her deal with Farouk and all she had seen. The past, family spirits, Books, a headless soldier, mimosas.

Thorn clenched his fists on the table and gritted his teeth. He knew most of the things Ophelia was telling him, but she had not. As he feared, she was too involved. And when she told him of her vision of God, his whole body tensed. He had been waiting for it, still hoping her reading had not been so successful.

It was his fault. He should had never ever set foot on Anima.

“I’ve been left with a feeling of uncertainty about that memory,” Ophelia admitted, confused. “I feel as if I missed something, and it’s that something that you’re going to have to find in my place. Do you think it may have something to do with what you spoke of with Melchior?”

He sighed and sat up straight. Even if he had inherited her power, he didn’t think he would have been able to find something more.

He strained the seams of his shirt. She knew a lot, too much not to be in danger. But if that was their last meeting, she deserved to know everything. She deserved to know _him_. “Could I have a glass of water?”

Ophelia looked at him perplexed. “Er… yes, of course.”

He heard her hit the bed and the washbasin before filling the glass and he wondered if it was just her normal, clumsy self or if she had a problem he could not see.

When she turned around with his water she abruptly stilled and looked at him horrified. “What… what have they done to you?”

He breathed and slightly shifted on his chair. He had hoped she wouldn’t notice it.

“Baron Melchior had many friends,” his leg, in that moment, was the last of his concerns. They had many other things to talk about. “If you hadn’t ‘precipitated my sentence,’ to use your words, my whole skeleton would have suffered the same treatment.” Ophelia was shaking, her face pale and her eyes wide. He swallowed and felt his blood rising to his face. He was not used to people watching him like that. “Don’t look at me like that, my resistance to pain is excellent.” He didn’t need her to worry about him and he was perfectly sure their conversation was going to be way more painful than his leg.

“I don’t want to hurry you,” she said, her voice trembling and her eyes pointing to the clock. “But we must begin your lesson.”

Thorn took a small gulp of water, staring at the door of the cell in front of him. He didn’t have his dice or his clock with him, so he tried to focus on the small gun he was holding. He could feel Ophelia’s eyes on him and he wondered if she realized she was shaking. He calculated the length of the gun barrel. She was not ready for what he was going to tell her. He was not ready to tell her. Could he carry out his plan knowing she was in such a danger?

He took another gulp of water.

He had promised not to keep her in the dark about matters that concerned her. And that was much, much more than a concern.

He finished his water and put the glass down.

When he had made that promise he had been sure she would never know the truth, at least not before he had read Farouk’s Book. How many of his predictions had turned out to be wrong in the last few months? He clenched his fist.

“In the beginning, we were as one,” Ophelia startled when he spoke. “But God felt we couldn’t satisfy him like that, so God set about dividing us.”

“Sorry?” Ophelia asked confused.

“My mother was mutilated fifteen years ago,” it was not his favorite memory, but that was the start of everything. “It took place shortly after the previous Family States. The last time I saw her was right here, in this prison. I still don’t know why she chose me, considering that I never meant anything to her.” He had spent so many days wondering why him. “I presume she had no other choice. The fact is, she made the most of the three minutes of visiting time she’d been allowed, to communicate a fraction of her memory. A very small fraction,” he had spent the rest of his days trying to understand what his mother did _not_ tell him. “but it was sufficient to change my life forever.” He raised his stare from the table to look at the woman near him. His wife. He was condemning her with his words, and for that he hated himself more than ever. “Farouk’s personal memories. A few fragments, at least, which I’ve spent years dissecting, to extract all their substance. What your reading taught you, I already knew it, but for a few details.” Mimosas. A statue with no head. Details that Natacha probably thought insignificant. “A bit more than that, even.”

Ophelia took a deep breath, her eyes wide open behind her glasses.

“A bit more than that?”

“God broke the world.” He calmly explained, as if those were not the words that would turn her life upside down.

He saw the puzzlement on her face as she was leaning on the table. “The Rupture… it would be the work of a single person?”

“I don’t know how, but God broke the world,” as he was telling her everything, a part of him just wanted her not to care. “Since then he’s had an absolute stranglehold on the fragments that remain of it. Melchior sold his soul to him, and he’s not an isolated case. Men and women are watching, from the shadows, to ensure that the family spirits, along with all their descendants, behave according to the plan laid out by God. My mother was one of them, and it corrupted her to the core, to the extent that God himself finally disowned her. I wouldn’t be surprised if your Doyennes weren’t among them,” he paused for an instant. He was sure she was being watched. “Perhaps even some members of your own family, and that’s why I ask you to take utmost care.”

Ophelia closed her eyes, her hand massaging her forehead. “Who is God, in the end?”

“ _What is he_ would be the appropriate question,” he corrected her. “I’ve been asking myself that question since the day I inherited my mother’s memory, and, to date, I have no satisfactory answer. I only know that he possesses a knowledge that brooks no possible comparison with our own. He created the family spirits, broke the world to pieces, and placed humanity under supervision. He is endowed with exceptional longevity, and, for one reason or another, he doesn’t want us to know his true face. Unfortunately, the few memories I have in common with Farouk become confused as soon as God is involved.”

“So, is that why you’re so keen to read his Book?” murmured Ophelia.

He frowned his brows. Did she think he was driven by curiosity? Desire for knowledge? His jaw tensed. No, he didn’t care about any of that.

“Every man should have the right to play his life with a throw of the dice.” He explained, thinking of the small cubes he usually had in his pockets. “They produce random results that transcend all predetermination. That ceases to make any sense if the dice are loaded. The entire court cheats. It’s inevitable since our family spirit, the mold itself of our society, is a cheat. Farouk hands out favor and disgrace according to his moods, not to ensure that the rules are respected. What this world-breaker is up to is even worse,” Thorn hissed between his teeth. “He stole humanity’s dice without ever—absolutely never—emerging from the shadows.”

Ophelia was looking at him, surprised, and he knew she had not expected him to tell her the truth. If that was their last conversation, he wanted to show her who he really was. Why he had interfered with her life.

“So you were investigating God from the start,” she asked, her voice just a whisper. “And then? What were you planning to do?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Give the world back its dice. What the world would have then done with them, that wasn’t my problem.” He just wanted the world to be free.

She raised her brows, scared. “You mean… confront God?” She was looking at him as if he was mad.

“I stopped at nothing to draw his attention to me. Melchior was prepared to go to any lengths to prevent me from reading Farouk’s Book. And for a very good reason: Farouk and God have a past in common. I hoped secretly to provoke an encounter by encroaching on that territory. God must have a weak point, everyone has one. I just had to discover which one, and the matter would have been sorted.” Of course he had not taken into consideration her and how she would upset his life.

“But why you? Why should it be up to you, and you alone, to sort that matter out?” Once again, Thorn found himself wondering what was driving her. Why was she worried about him?

Trying to change his position to face her, a twinge of pain passed through his leg, taking his breath away. He hid his discomfort and stilled, hoping Ophelia didn’t noticed it.

“I’m conditioned by my job,” he gritted between his teeth. He was not acting out of generosity or love. He just wanted the game to be fair. “See it as a ridiculous sense of duty, or incurable intellectual rigor.”

He felt Ophelia’s eyes on him while he was catching his breath, trying to put his leg in a better position. Sweat was running down his forehead.

“You’ve kept all that to yourself for fifteen years?”

He nodded. “I totally refuse to mix my aunt up in this. Ignorance is less dangerous than knowledge.” Ignorance was what he had hoped for her. “In your case, that has ceased to be true since you read the Book. Bear in mind, however, that the truth has a price, and it’s high.” She had to understand, she had to be careful. Knowing so much was dangerous, and she was a magnet for disasters. “Never forget what happened to Hildegarde. She probably knew more than me and preferred to commit suicide rather than accept my protection. I can’t help wondering why Melchior was so keen for God to meet her. He took that secret to his grave, too.”

Ophelia seemed to be lost in her thoughts, standing in silence near him. He wanted to ask her if she was scared, if she had grasped the meaning of what he had just told her, if she wished he had kept his secrets.

He just waited, in silence, watching her. Her skin was paler than usual, her lips were slightly trembling, the bun over her head had loosen a bit, letting some curls fall. Yet her body emanated the same determination as ever.

He had more things to tell her.

The clock struck and she suddenly came back to reality. “We mustn’t waste any more time.”

“I never waste my time,” Thorn assured her. “Everything I’ve said to you, I had to say it to you now.” Afterall, it was their last meeting. “It will be up to you to make better use of it than I did.”

Then he slowly opened his fist, showing her the small gun. Ophelia, if possible, became even paler and held her breath. He saw a hundred thoughts passing through her brain.

“Archibald,” she murmured and he nodded slowly. “When he congratulated you…”

“He may not be funny, but he is efficient. I asked him to do me this favor during his time in the visiting room.”

“Why ask him for a gun?” She looked upset, desperation filled her voice and he felt emptiness settling on his chest. It would be harder than what he had thought.

“I have no intention of ending up like my mother,” he wanted her to understand, to accept his decision. His memory had defined his whole life and he would not lose it. He could not imagine himself living without remembering himself, his work, _her._ “I want to decide myself when and how I die.”

“You won’t end up like your mother, I promise you, so throw that idea away immediately.” The anger in Ophelia’s voice surprised him and for a second he believed it. But her plan would not work, he had to tell her.

“You need not promise me anything. There’s a detail about this object that will surely interest you.” Again, he tried to read the gun in his hand, to grasp a sensation, to feel an emotion.

Nothing.

He was not a reader.

“Since I’ve been holding it in my hand, I’ve not yet read it.”

Horror filled her eyes. They both knew what that meant for her plan. “What?”

“I’m not reading it,” repeated Thorn. “I’m touching it, but I’m feeling nothing special. I’m obviously not an expert, but I would tend to think that that’s not a good sign.”

Ophelia pushed the glass in front of him and he took it in his hands. “Nothing.”

“Concentrate hard,” she advised him, clenching her fists. She took a small breath. “Reading an object is like picking up the telephone. You must be ready to listen to what it has to tell you.”

He nodded and tried again on the lamp switch. He concentrated, trying to forget everything else, but it was all the same. “Nothing.” He repeated after a few seconds.

“No image?” he could see her hopes shatter, hear her voice break. “No particular sensation? Not even a vague impression?”

“No.”

She took off her glasses. “Here. It’s easier to read an object that isn’t already steeped in one’s own state of mind.”

He took her glasses, careful not to break them. Once more, he could not read anything.

He gave the glasses back to her. “Still nothing. It’s pretty ironic, but it would seem that I’m definitely not gifted at reading.” He was not going to waste more time, he had to tell her everything and let her go. “Right now, give me all your attention. I have a favor to ask of you.”

“No.” She shook her head, her wide eyes fix on his face, but he ignored it. “Take my aunt with you to Anima. Neither of you should have to suffer Farouk’s outbursts in my place. Speak of what you know to no one, and live your life as before. The truth is a weighty burden; it shouldn’t be placed on all shoulders.” Especially, not on hers. He wanted her to be happy, to be free, as if he had never taken her away from Anima.

“No,” repeated Ophelia, still looking for other objects.

He put his little pistol in the pocket of his shirt. He swallowed and steadied himself. He had to let her go. “I won’t use this gun in front of you. Call security and be off with you.”

Ophelia shook her head, biting her lip. Her face as white as snow. Her long curls streamed down her back.

“No, no, no,” she pleaded him, still shaking her head. “You must still try… We must still try.”

_We_. 

The emptiness in Thorn’s chest was expanding. He had never meant to hurt her. Before taking his decision, he had thought of Berenilde, sure that she was going to be happy and safe with her child. And he had thought of her. But he had imagined her happy, finally free to go back to her life once he was dead.

“I’m going to convince Mr. Farouk to let me read his Book a second time. There’s bound to be a solution, there’s always a solution.” She continued, desperate.

“Ophelia.” He extended his arms and gently framed her face with his hands, forcing her to look at him. She was shaking and all the color had drained from her face, but her skin was burning hot. Her eyes were studying him, her breath was short. “Don’t make the task harder for me. Neither of us is capable of satisfying Farouk, and you know it. He’s going to take my memory from me, and, with it, all that I am. I don’t want to end up like my mother, you understand?” He pressed harder on her cheeks, caressing her skin with his thumb. “I won’t suffer.” He knew how to kill himself without enduring any additional pain.

“Please…” Her voice was barely a whisper, her eyes burning his. Nobody had ever looked at him like that. She was begging him to stay alive, not because of her sense of justice or her kindness. She actually cared about him and that realization dug a hole in his stomach.

How was he supposed to let her go?

He tried to suppress a shy smile and, tightening his grip on her, Thorn invited Ophelia to come closer to him. He moved his hands to her arms and rested his forehead on her shoulder.

“The first time I saw you, I formed a very poor opinion of you.” He admitted, thinking of that girl he had met when he had just arrived on Anima. He should have noticed it sooner, when she had stared at him in silence, pleased by his disrespect towards her family. “I thought you had no common sense and no character, and wouldn’t make it to the marriage. That will forever remain the biggest mistake of my life.” He smiled; at the end she had made it to the marriage in much better conditions than him.

A part of him was egoistically happy of how things had gone, because had it not been for his mother’s memory, Farouk’s Book and their contract, he would have never met her. In another life, one with no God, no arranged marriage, their paths would have never crossed.

She was shaking and Thorn put his arms around her waist, tightening his embrace. It was time to say goodbye.

“Don’t go falling down any more stairs,” he said, his voice hoarse as his lungs seemed full of ice. His heart was contracting. The pain from his leg was almost a pleasant distraction. “Avoid sharp objects, and above all, above all, keep away from disreputable people, alright?”

He closed his eyes, desiring a life for her with no more illusions, no more dangers, no more forgetful Spirts, no more Books, no more people like Baron Melchior or Archibald. Like him.

He hoped she would finally be safe once he was gone from her life.

He swallowed, trying to ignore the physical pain that thoughts were causing him. There was one last thing she deserved to know. “Oh, and by the way, I love you.”

Ophelia let out a small sob and grabbed his shirt with a hand. He put his hands in her thick curls, pulling her as close as was physically possible, their bodies clasped together.

He didn’t want a reply. He didn’t want to be rejected again and at the same time he was terrified by the possibility that she could feel the same. Because if she felt the same, if she loved him too, he would never be able to do what was necessary.

He just wanted her to know.

He took a deep breath, inhaling her scent for one last time, saving it in his brain, together with all her other thousands details he had learnt and loved. Then, fighting against every fiber of his muscles, every neuron in his nervous system, he pulled away from her.

“It’s…” He cleared his throat. He felt as if he were drowning in emptiness. “It’s a little harder than I thought it would be.”

He could feel tears forming in his eyes. He had not cried for eighteen years and then, in a couple of days, she made him cry twice. He pushed his pale hair back, hoping she wouldn’t notice as when he had comforted her after Baron Melchior’s death.

“Leave, now,” he muttered. He could not risk changing his mind. “I loathe tearful farewells.”

He slowly unclasped Ophelia’s hand from his shirt.

“Away with you,” he insisted in a whisper, trying to convince her. “Ophelia, the more you linger here, the harder it will be for me to…”

With the corner of his eyes he caught a movement near the door of the cell and he stopped, his words dying on his lips. His eyes widened with surprise and he stared at the scene in front of him, confused.

A foot was springing out through the golden reinforcement of the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of the second book always makes me sad, I hope I was able to put down in words how the Thorn in my head felt during those moments.   
> Let me know what you think and if you have any suggestion I'm happy to hear it!  
> X  
> Gin


End file.
